Timing Belt Replacement

Anyone who knows me, I mean knows me even just a little bit knows that I do not speak “car and driver.”  It isn’t that I can’t appreciate a nice new car or even a nice old car; it’s just that I really don’t care much about cars.  Of course at the age of 16 I did, but that was over a decade ago.  Now, I just want a “cute” dependable car that will get me from point A to point B with no problems.  By no problems, I absolutely, 100% mean that I don’t want any check engine, low fuel, oil, or overheating lights to come on while I am driving down the road.  I want nothing but smooth sailing the entire way.  It doesn’t help that the only thing that I do for my car is to refuel.  I just don’t like having to take care of the other, I know necessary, maintenance issues on a car.  I used to think that I was meant to marry a mechanic with all the car trouble I’ve had.

Recently, my friend, Melisa’s car started giving her problems.  She told me that they had to replace the timing belt and that I might should get that looked at for my own car because we have about the same number of miles driven on our odometer.  She is always looking out for me and just wanted to make sure that I knew it was something that I might need to have checked out.  I take this brief conversation with Melisa and head to my parent’s house for dinner.

We are sitting in the living room and I start discussing needing an oil change and having my engine looked over.  My dad says that he agrees that I should and that he will set this plan in action.  (He usually does after I remind him 2 or 3 or 4 times.)  As we are still discussing my car, I casually ask about having my timing belt replaced.   My dad turns and looks at me.  He has the strangest look on his face.  One that I can’t figure out even though I’ve been looking at his strange looks for years.  He then proceeds to ask me if I know where the timing belt is located and I say no.  He explains it to me and then I once again ask if I should have it replaced.  The strange look appears again.  I’m pondering what he is thinking and in just a moment he reveals the look that I can’t identify.

He says who told you about a timing belt.  I rehashed the conversation with Melisa and he then begins to nod in understanding.   You see my dad knows there is no way possible for me to know about a timing belt all on my own.  He knows that those exact words came from someone else and he is trying to figure out whom in the world I would be discussing any thing car and driver with. 

Once he realizes that Melisa and I were making plans for good car upkeep, the strange look disappears and he again recognizes me as his daughter that doesn’t know anything about timing belts or even cars for that matter.  I could feel a sense a relief from him that the puzzle had been solved.  I’m also certain that at some point he will suggest to Melisa’s husband, Ryan, that maybe she and I might be better off not having discussions about our cars.  I’m almost sure too that he was thankful that at least for now, he is still in charge of keeping my car safely running on the road.  Left to my own devices, I just may be driving a scooter or a golf cart.

:o)